Trouble In A Bubble.

Xandra

I called Ghost to see if he wanted to hang out, maybe get lunch at Lentil As Anything. I said I’ve got some stories to tell about my mad playeristic exploits. He said he was just about to head down anyway and he’d see me there.

When I got into Melbourne this time, I caught up with Ghost and he said “Come with us to Lentil… it’s great – you don’t have to pay.” It’s actually “pay by donation” or “pay as you feel”. Volunteers work there, normally refugees getting sponsored. Every time I go with Ghost, it comes time to pay and he says “Hm… I don’t have any cash on me… guess I’ll pay next time.”

When I got down there, Ghost was sitting inside with Gabriel, Beejay Graze and some chick. Her name was Xandra. I shook everyone’s hand… got some food from the buffet and sat down.

“So, Kurt. Are you going to tell us these stories?” said Ghost.

“Ah…” I hesitated and looked at Xandra. These stories were not really designed for the company of women. Oh well.

“Sure.”

The Beau Maris Beau-tician

I was at Transport. I must have talked to a few girls, maybe got some make out action. But nothing was really going anywhere. I went out to the back smoking court and started talking to these couple of older women. The hot one must have been pushing forty. She was blonde and a beautician.

I didn’t think it was really going anywhere, I was just having fun. Made out with her a couple of times when her sister dashed off. She was pretty drunk. Then she’s like come on let’s go home. I was maybe a little surprised, considering I’d only been talking to her for half an hour. I went to the taxi rank with her, thinking we’d get a taxi. Some guy calls out “hey nice one buddy! You two make a nice couple!”

She calls back “Couple? This is my son!” She was pretty self-conscious about the age difference. I tried to grab her a few times and she hissed “What are you doing?? Not here!”

Instead of a taxi, it’s her sister that pulls up. We jump in and I think “hm where the hell am I going?” but I go along for the ride anyway. Who knows where it could lead. Maybe to pussytown.

Turns out we’re going to Beau Maris… I don’t even know where that is. A looong way from the city.

As we get about 10 km down St Kilda Road, the Beautician starts saying that we have to drop me off in Fitzroy (the other way). Her sister gets very upset. Apparently she uses her sister like a taxi.

“Well look. I’m only making one trip. So where are we going?”

I said I’d go to the Beautician’s place and I’d get a taxi home later. The best I could come up with.

Instead, I get out off St Kilda Rd and starting to walk home.

I call the Beautician and start shooting the shit. I tell her about one of my favourite movies, Don Juan De Marco. If that wouldn’t gain the trust of a woman, I don’t know what would.

When I walked about 2 km up the road, she said I should come over.

Eventually I get a taxi… Ten minutes before I get there, she rings me up and says “Are you still coming? I’m going to sleep.”

I promise her I’ll be there soon and when I get there and she shows me around her house for a bit, she says those magical words:
“You’re too young…”

Five minutes later she said those other magical words:

“Do you have protection?”

Then she lead me to her bedroom and asked if I’d ever had sex before. I laughed in her face.

We’re getting into some heavy petting on the bed. Her dog comes and starts growling at me. I say maybe I should put it out and close the door. She says no, leave little fluffy, and puts him on the bed. I think ok that’s pretty fucked up.

So… after all this, the crazed taxi sister, long walk home, $40 cab ride, “you’re too young”, dog on the bed… of course I got laid, didn’t I.

Well… actually, no. I couldn’t get it up.

She kicked me out the next morning at like 6:30. I had to be out before her kids came home from a sleepover.

“So that was my Saturday night.”

Ghost said “Awesome man. You love the older women huh?”

“Do I?”

“Yeah you always tell me stories about them.”

“Oh yeah. I guess so. Anyway I have this other story about what happened to my friend in Scotland.”

The Scottish Escort

I emailed Tim and told him the story I just told you. I guess he just had to one-up me.

He said he was disappointed because since he’d gotten into Scotland, he’d only had Australian and Canadian girls. Poor thing.

So he called an escort service and got a £200 an hour escort, for two hours. So he paid about $1000 for this prostitute.

So she comes over and they get down to business and shag a couple of times. She has fake breasts which he doesn’t like. They always look to be on the verge of popping. After a while they’re sitting down and drinking wine and having a chat. The two hours drifts away, but they’re still talking.

Tim says he’s going to the highlands in a couple of days.

“Oh really? I’d love to go, I’ve never been.” She’s lived in Scotland all her life and never been to the highlands… sure. She just wanted to spend more time with Tim… no mention of payment. This is what Tim’s life is like… making a high class escort fall in love with him in two hours.

He wakes up a few days later and notices he has scratches all over his body. How did this happen? Oh yeah, that’s right. Last night he got drunk with the escort and tried to have sex two storeys up, in a tree.

I’m not sure if he succeeded or not.

They hung on every word of the story, fascinated. Then I ate… we went and foraged outside of Salvo’s. Xandra took a copy of ‘He died with a falafel in his hand’ (the book version). Ghost nearly got caught by the security guard.

Two weeks later. Friday, 10 pm. Two young girls got on the tram and sat next to me. “Welcome.” I said.

“Thanks!” they said.

Five minutes later they struck up a conversation with me and said I should join them at Third Class.

“Sure… I’m all alone like pinocchio tonight… my wingman’s in Sydney.”

“Your wingman?”

“Yeah.”

Third Class is this place where you get kicked out if you’re dressed too nice… so I’ve heard. We lined up… the line was murder.

Half an hour in, I heard a voice call out behind me “John! John!” and I turned around to see this cute brunette. It’s “Jones”.

“Do you remember me?”

“Hi! … no!” I was pleased to see her, whoever she was.

“We met at Lentil!”

“Xandra? Hi!”

Maybe I gave her a hug. She told me how she was going to Germany in a couple of days. Her friends had painted her a pair of Dunlop volleys in German colours.

Later she said to me, “You know, I wouldn’t even have remembered you if not for that story you told us about your friend and the prostitute.”

I guess the dog humping my leg while I tried to fuck a 40 year old beautician wasn’t a powerful enough image for her.

After an hour of standing and waiting in line, I’d had enough and I went to transport. I should have stayed with Xandra and fucked her.

The next time I went to the squat at Xxxxx Street to see Ghost, he was gone. Beejay Graze said he’d moved to his parents’ place or something. He’d just sort of, gone.

I started telling Beejay and Gabriel some more stories. Beejay said teasingly “You’re a bit of a ladies’ man aren’t you – and you’re not shy about it either.”

“Yeah… well, I guess.”

“Xandra’s obsessed with you dude. She couldn’t stop talking about you when I met her. Cutting my grass dude.”

“Oh you’re trying to tap that. Sorry bro.”

“Ah no matter. She’s gone now anyway. She said you got her facebook… pretty gay.”

“Haha. Yeah.”

So the moral of the story is… never underestimate the power of a dirty story. I think she reads my website regularly.

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